I'm susceptible to stars in the skies,

I'm incurably romantic,

if they're told to me all covered with sighs,

the wildest of lies seems true.

Each time a lovebird sings,

I have no defenses,

my heart is off on wings

along with my senses.

I'm a set-up for the moon when it's bright,

I'm incurably romantic.

And I shouldn't be allowed out at night,

with anyone quite like you.

But, oh! Your arms are nice,

and it would be awfully nice

if you turned out to be starry-eyed like me,

and incurably romantic too.